Aftermath
by Laatija
Summary: Takes place after the end of the Dark Knight. A little oneshot about what happened afterwards. Features bruises, revealed identities, and cookies. Movie-verse with a splash of silver age comics


**Disclaimer: No, I do not own Batman! Gosh, stop rubbing it in!**

**A/N: This is a little story that sprung to mind after watching the Dark Knight for the third time. I asked myself, what did Bruce Wayne do after the movie? Where did he run to? …so this is my silly little explanation of what could have happened. Takes place mere hours after running away from Gordon in the end, with all the cops chasing him. Movie-verse with a throwback to the silver age of Batman comics out of respect for the character…well, characters. If you don't get the reference at the end, don't feel bad.**

**Aftermath**

The piece of machinery rumbled beneath him. The steady rhythm of it toyed with his mind, coaxing it into slumber; into collapse. He jerked it off road sporadically. The rhythm sputtered as the wheels twisted in the loose gravel. It was a rash move but a necessary one. A shot of adrenaline shot into his system again. It was weaker than before. His body was reaching its limit; something that rarely happened. But he still pushed it further. He _had_ to get away. Had to get to safety.

There were sirens in the distance. There were _always_ sirens in the distance. It was a noise that made up a huge cornerstone of city ambiance. Especially _this_ city. But these were different. In his imagination, they were a bit more desperate, a touch shriller, miles closer. They were for a masked vigilantly gone bad. A volunteer savior turned villain. A dark angel turned demon. The sirens were for him.

He knew this is what would happen. This is what he wanted to happen. But it made the situation no less desperate. In the depths of his mind, he still couldn't shake the cold terror and gut wrenching feeling of betrayal as those he had been attempting to help turned against him with such fury. How swiftly they forgot the things he did! And yet, this had to be. He _had_ to be the bad guy. And he could, _would_, swallow this very bitter pill.

This knowledge, this _willpower,_ was what kept him going. Especially now.

Bruce realized, somewhere in-between bouts of running for his life, that it wouldn't be wise to go back to his pent house suite. Not in this state. That was the problem of living in the city itself; not nearly enough privacy. He could go back to the shipping yards but he highly doubted his ability sneak past anyone right now. Like it or not, he had to face the fact that he was running on empty. He could barely drive straight, let alone sneak past the blockades that were sure to be in his path.

It'd been pure luck that Dent had chosen his location so near to the outskirts of the city. Bruce didn't have to worry about road blocks this far out. Not yet anyway. Getting out of the city was easy. Getting back in would take some help. So his plan was simple; get as far away as possible and have Alfred come pick him up. Simple. Currently, he was past Wayne Manor; out in the middle of nowhere, virtually. Hardly anyone lived out here. There were a few farmers peppered around the area and a handful of white trash who had managed to get out of the city. There was a little town out here, thirty or so miles away.

The bike's front tire skidded on gravel again and not because he'd wanted it to. His vision swam lethargically. Bruce was suddenly aware of just how much pain he was in. It was as if a switch had been thrown and his body was done being in sweet numb shock. He clenched his teeth and pushed the pain back, forcing it into a carefully constructed mental box then shutting, and locking, the lid. Pain was too much of a distraction right now.

Bruce didn't notice, until it was too late, that his bike was wobbling precariously underneath him. In a shower of sparks, it toppled to the pavement and skidded down the road, dragging a nearly unconscious batman with it. When the massive bike finally came to a stop, Bruce could only manage to raise his head and stare at the world around him.

The sun was just starting to rise. It threw everything into hazy shades of gray. All but the two bright circles of light that came hurtling at him. And all he could do was close his eyes and wait for the inevitable. He couldn't run anymore. No. More…

_VVV_

"You're gonna be ok! Do you hear me?" A woman's voice broke into the thick black curtain that surrounded his mind. Bruce realized his eyelids were closed. Wearily, he forced first one open, then the other. "I'm calling 911 right now! You're gonna be fine!" The woman was nearly shouting at him.

911. Police. Alarm shot through him. "No!" he managed to yell. The force in his voice surprised him. The woman, a simple looking red head, stared at him with wide eyes; a cell phone in her hand. He blinked lethargically at her. "Please…no," he pleaded. Bruce didn't actually expect the plea to be taken seriously but he had to try. To his surprise, she nodded slowly, eyes still wide. She stared at him for a several long moments before snapping out of shock.

"Ok…" she said slowly. "Ok. We need to get you out of the middle of the road." Bruce realized, with a sinking feeling, that he was thoroughly pinned under his bike. He planted two shaking hands on the piece of machinery. The woman did the same from the other side. "On the count of three. One. Two. Three." He pushed as she pulled.

Bruce nearly passed out as pain blossomed through his chest and into his legs. He channeled the scream of agony into a well controlled grunt as he flexed his muscles and pushed with all the strength he had left. There was a sickening moment, when the heavy bike was raised a half a foot, in which Bruce feared it would only come crashing back down again. But then it was swinging towards the redhead and she danced out of the way as it clanged down onto the pavement. He sighed in relief and flopped down to the ground.

"Not yet," she muttered. "We need to get you in the truck." For the first time, Bruce noticed the ancient, rusted, once-white truck that was idling on the road. Then his vision grayed at the edges. He closed his eyes and couldn't help the moan of pain that broke past his lips. He could feel the woman pulling at him, trying to get him up. But the movement jarred his battered body too much. It shut down and sent him into darkness.

_VVV_

Bruce's first sensation, upon waking, was that of a sweet scent wafting through the air around his face. The smell coaxed him from the warm comfort of sleep. With some effort, he opened his eyes. Confusion instantly assaulted him.

Where was he? What had happened?

The woman. The woman had found him. He'd passed out. A glance around revealed a small, humbly decorated bedroom. It had dull off-white walls and a few random pictures of people he didn't know hanging up in poorly placed positions. Mounds of clothes were piled up in corners and against what he could only assume was the closet door. The shades were drawn on the only window in the room but bright sunlight still filtered in through the slats. His mask sat on the dresser at the foot of the queen sized bed he lay on.

Bruce froze.

The woman had seen him. Had taken off his mask.

He frowned as he took stock of the rest of his gear. All of which was currently _not_ on his body but in the far corner of the room in an ungainly pile. In fact, the only thing he was actually wearing was his boxers.

"You're awake!" A cheerful voice startled him. The woman was standing in the doorway. He didn't quite know what to say. She didn't wait for him. "How do feel?"

Horrible. He was slowly realizing just how horrible as the seconds past. "…'m fine," he managed to say. Her forehead crinkled up as she winced in sympathy.

"I doubt it, Mr. Wayne," she insisted. He stiffened at her casual use of his name. "I mean, look at you; someone would think you've been run over by a truck."

"Have you told anyone that…" he hesitated. "that I'm here?" Or that he was batman? That batman was sitting as helpless as a newborn kitten in a stranger's house?

Her face softened and she walked over to the side of the bed. "Well, no. I figured, with all this hoopla about the identity of Batman, that it would be sort of rude to just…tell someone. You look so… pathetic and everything. It just…didn't seem right."

He stared at her for a few seconds. It caught him off guard to hear such sympathy. It was something he'd grown used to not hearing in the past several days. "Thank you," he said genuinely.

"You're welcome, Mr. Wayne." She walked to the dresser and picked up a bottle and a towel that were sitting there. "Now, I should probably clean out that cut of yours again."

Bruce frowned. Cut? What cut? He pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed and held back a few pained curses. There was a mirror above the dresser and his haggard reflection stared him down. Deep bruises peppered his chest. He knew for a fact that they hid broken ribs. But it was the small puckered red slit in his side that surprised him. It was a knife wound. He'd had enough of those to know what one looked like. But he couldn't quite remember how it happened. It probably happened when the…when the Joker jumped him. The thought brought back unpleasant memories and sensations.

The wound was red around the edges. Possibly infected. Great. Infections were annoying.

The woman put a careful hand on his shoulder. He winced as the tender flesh ached under her touch. Bruce could only imagine what a mess of black and blue his back was.

"Sorry, this is probably going to hurt," the woman warned. The bottle in her hand had that cute little label he loathed: hydrogen peroxide. She quickly dabbed at his stab wound with a soaked cloth. It burned but not as bad as he feared. Regardless, he still hissed in pain. She gave him a dubious look. "Sorry but this is what you get for not letting me take you to a hospital."

"It's fine. I'll live," he insisted. When she was finished, he laid back down with a groan.

"Are you hungry? I made soup and cookies," she offered. He wasn't really hungry, more exhausted then anything, but she looked hopeful and he hated to be an ungrateful house guest.

"Sure."

"Ok, I'll be right back." She moved with a frantic energy towards the door. But she stopped in the doorway. "Oh, your…helmet keeps…buzzing?" She retrieved it and brought it to him. Without stopping for an explanation, she left him alone again.

His communicator. Alfred must have been trying to get a hold of him. Bruce pulled the mask over his head and thumbed a button on the inside of it. "Alfred?" There was a tiny microphone in the side, near his mouth, and a receiver in one of the ear pieces; something Mr. Fox added to his new mask. It called only two people; Alfred and Lucius.

"_Master Wayne? Where are you?" _Alfred's irritated voice cackled in his ear. Bruce frowned. He didn't actually know where this house was.

"I'm not exactly sure, Alfred," he admitted. "But I need you to come get me. Have Lucius track the suit."

"_Are you alright, sir?"_

"I'll be fine. Just come get me."

"_I am I to assume then that you currently are not fine?"_

"I'll be fine," Bruce repeated lamely. He wasn't up for arguing at the moment. Alfred seemed to hear the weariness in his voice.

"_I'll be there shortly, Master Wayne."_

"Thank you." Bruce pulled the mask off and laid it on the bed next to him. He closed his eyes against an oncoming headache.

"Someone coming for you?"

Bruce looked up sharply to see the woman standing in the doorway with a steaming bowl in her hands. He just nodded.

"Gotham City is about two and a half hours away," she informed him. "You should get some sleep, Mr. Wayne. It looks like you could use it more than food right now." He was inclined to agree.

The past few days had finally caught up with him here, in the quietness; in the stillness. The madness was still so fresh in his mind. And it was far from over. But at least he had this still quite place, right here, right now.

"Relax, I'll make sure nothing bad comes," the woman promised.

"Thank you, Miss…?"He realized he didn't know her name. She smiled.

"Kathy. Kathy Kane."

"Thank you, Kathy Kane."

"You're welcome," she slid out of the room and gently closed the door behind her. Bruce relaxed into the soft bed. Exhaustion pulled at him. He succumbed to it; feeling, for the first time in a long time, safe.

**Fin.**


End file.
